


Jus ad Bellum

by AHumanFemale, Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Law & Order Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, Civil War (Marvel), DA!Tony Stark, Developing Relationship, M/M, NYPD Capt!Steve Rogers, Too much hurt not enough comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 11:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17120759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHumanFemale/pseuds/AHumanFemale, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: “Whatcha doing?”Steve jerked upright, glancing guiltily at the doorway. “Oh, hey Buck,” he said, fumbling for the remote.He didn’t get there in time. Bucky perched on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he looked at the TV. “Slacking on the job, huh?” he said with a grin. “What’re you watching that’s so important?”“Oh, nothing,” Steve said with forced casualness. “The Rumlow verdict is due back today, and the local news is doing its usual Tony Stark love fest.”“Funny,” Bucky said, his grin widening. “I thought that was your job.”





	Jus ad Bellum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ReginaCole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReginaCole/gifts).



> For the wonderful Reagan, in hopes that you have a wonderful Christmas. May this fic stand as testament to the fact that friendship does, on occasion at least, transcend fandoms.
> 
> The authors met Reagan in the Law and Order SVU fandom, and when trying to decide what to gift her, we figured we'd take one of her other ships and do what we could to fit it into a Law and Order type universe. We're pretty satisfied with the result, and we hope you will be as well!
> 
> Both authors' first time writing Stony, so please be gentle. Title is a Latin expression referring to justification for war.
> 
> Usual disclaimer: all characters belong to Marvel and we're just borrowing for some fun. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!
> 
> xoxo, us.

NYPD Captain Steve Rogers leaned back in his desk chair, tempted to prop his feet up on his desk like his favorite prosecutor was wont to do, but his rigid training from his time in the Army wouldn’t quite let him. Not in the workplace, at least, though he had been known to put his feet up on the coffee table at home from time to time.

It was a quiet day at the precinct, the kind of day that might tempt him to relax, but he had learned a long time ago that quiet days rarely stayed that way, and normally preceded trouble. To distract himself from that fact, he turned on the TV in his office to watch the local news coverage of a trial he’d been following from the beginning.

He hadn’t known Brock Rumlow when the man worked on the force, had only met him after the arrest warrant had already gone out, but he had read enough of his file to know that from his conduct as a police officer, Rumlow was the worst of the worst, a glaring example — among far too many — of why public trust in NYPD was at an all-time low.

The fact that he had murdered three innocent bystanders didn’t help either.

Steve sighed as he watched the TV anchors discuss the details of the case while glossing over the more sensitive aspects of it, but before his eyes could completely glaze over, a familiar figure popped up in the B-roll the news station was showing. Despite everything, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched New York County District Attorney Tony Stark swagger down the stairs of the New York Supreme Court building, signature sunglasses in place as he was swarmed by a mob of reporters.

He turned the volume on the TV up, listening as the reporters turned the conversation to Tony. “—the State’s case has been helmed by New York County District Attorney, Tony Stark. The son of legendary attorney Howard Stark, Tony quickly stole the spotlight with his brilliant mind. At age 8, he wrote his first _amicus_ brief; at age 12, his first law review article. And at 17, he graduated summa cum laude from Harvard Law School.

“Then, the passing of a titan. After Howard Stark’s tragic death, Tony Stark took over as partner at Stark, Ransom and Richards LLP. Expected to continue his father’s legacy of managing acquisitions and defending high-profile clients, Tony instead rejected that path, stepped down as partner at his father’s firm and became a prosecutor, putting the kind of people his father once defended behind bars and developing a reputation for pursuing justice above all. When he ran for District Attorney, Mr. Stark made police accountability a centerpiece of his campaign, making the Brock Rumlow case personal.”

The TV cut to an interview with Tony from a few years ago, and Steve propped his chin on his hand as he watched. “As I’m sure everyone knows,” Tony was saying, flashing his trademark smile at the camera and interviewer, “my father’s legacy is complicated. He spent his career working in the best interest of his clients, and that included keeping what he thought were innocent people out of prison. After his death, I learned the truth the hard way, that, whether directly by his hand or not, many criminals walked free. And I saw that I had become a part of a system that is comfortable with zero accountability. I had my eyes opened. I came to realize that I had more to offer this world than just—”

“Whatcha doing?”

Steve jerked upright, glancing guiltily at the doorway. “Oh, hey Buck,” he said, fumbling for the remote.

He didn’t get there in time. Bucky perched on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he looked at the TV. “Slacking on the job, huh?” he said with a grin. “What’re you watching that’s so important?”

“Oh, nothing,” Steve said with forced casualness. “The Rumlow verdict is due back today, and the local news is doing its usual Tony Stark love fest.”

“Funny,” Bucky said, his grin widening. “I thought that was your job.”

Steve gave him a look but before he could say anything, his cellphone vibrated and he glanced down at it, his expression tightening as he read the message. “Shit.”

“Language,” Bucky admonished, though his smile faded at the look on Steve’s face. “What is it?”

“Mistrial,” Steve said grimly.

“Shit,” Bucky echoed, his smile disappearing entirely. “So what does that mean?”

“It means Rumlow’s out on bail until the State decides if they want to try him again.”

“Out on bail?” Bucky repeated. “Steve, he killed three people!”

Steve sighed and stood, grabbing his suit jacket from the back of his chair. “I know that,” he said, tugging it on. “But this is just how the justice system goes sometimes.”

Bucky shook his head. “Like hell,” he said bluntly. “If this is justice—”

“I know,” Steve said. “I’m going to go talk to Tony, see if I can get to the bottom of it.”

“Sure, use this as an excuse to go talk to your boyfriend,” Bucky grumbled, but his usual teasing tone didn’t quite come through, his expression still dark.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Steve sighed distractedly, though he eyed Bucky warily. “You ok, Buck?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said instantly, smiling tightly as he looked up at Steve. “Yeah I’m great. Tell Tony I say hi.”

Steve snorted and shook his head. “After he almost prosecuted you for perjury?”

Bucky’s smile widened. “Like you would’ve let him.”

“You know I wouldn’t,” Steve said with a chuckle. “You good holding down the fort here, Sgt. Barnes?”

Bucky gave him a sloppy salute. “Aye, aye, Cap’n,” he said sarcastically, and Steve just shook his head as he was already halfway out the door, mind on Tony Stark and not on the dark look that once again clouded Bucky’s expression.

* * *

 

Steve hurried up the steps to the courthouse, though his stride slowed when he caught sight of a familiar military uniform in the sea of business suits. “Col. Rhodes!” he called, and the man paused and turned, a tired smile breaking out across his face.

“Captain Rogers,” he said, holding out his hand for Steve to shake.

“You heard?” Steve asked, knowing that if Tony had spoken to anyone after the mistrial, it would be Rhodes. Tony had been friends with Col. Rhodes since law school, even though they had taken very different paths. Rhodey had stayed in the Air Force, ascending the ranks of the JAG corps to become Staff Judge Advocate for the Air Combat Command Headquarters at Langley.

“Why do you think I’m here?” Rhodes asked, somewhat tiredly. “Luckily I was in New York already, coordinating with Navy and Marine legal response for Fleet Week coming up—”

Steve groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Rhodes grinned, though it looked more like a grimace. “Sorry about the drunken sailors about to descend on your city,” he said. “No one knows what to do with them.”

“There’s a song about that,” Steve said mildly as they headed toward Tony’s office, and Rhodes laughed before glancing sideways at him.

“You here on official business?”

Steve shook his head. “Same reason you are,” he said, and Rhodes smiled, something softening in his expression.

He looked like he wanted to say something in response to that, but before he could, they had arrived at Tony’s office, where a rather-frazzled looking Jarvis waved them in without a word.

“Rhodey!” Tony exclaimed, turning around from where he had been staring out the window, and Steve was unsurprised to see that he had already lost his tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and rolled his sleeves sloppily to his elbows.

Clearly Tony had no intention of going back in front of news cameras after the mistrial had been declared.

What Steve was surprised to see was that the crystal decanter full of whiskey in the back corner of the room was still full, its glasses unused and empty.

“Got your text,” Rhodes said, perhaps unnecessarily, as he sat down in one of the chairs across from Tony’s desk. Steve remained standing, well aware that Rhodes was better-suited to deal with the logistics of what had gone wrong. “What happened?”

Tony jerked a shrug, sifting through some papers on his desk. “One of the jurors knew one of the victims,” he said dismissively.

“And it didn’t come out during voir dire?”

“Clearly not.”

Rhodes nodded. “Ok, but the Supreme Court held that under Rule 606(b)—”

“That ruling was for a new trial after the verdict had been returned,” Tony said. “This was determined before we even got to the verdict.”

“So what about—”

Steve tuned them out after that point, for the most part. He didn’t mind letting Tony and Rhodes work through this without his input. In fact, under any other circumstance, he would love seeing Tony’s mind at work, trying to solve a logic puzzle.

It was one of his favorite things to watch, all the more so when he had finally realized that that was why Tony looked at him the way he did. Steve knew he was easy to dismiss, former Army officer, currently NYPD officer. “A big, dumb puppy,” someone had once called him, and Steve had laughed it off, knowing too well that most people weren't willing to look past the job or the muscles to really seem him. But Tony never looked at him that way. Tony looked at him like he was a never-ending puzzle, something Tony was determined to discover every possible solution to.

And normally Steve was more than content to let that process play out, whether in one of their offices, or in a bar after work hours, or wherever, under rare circumstances, they found themselves alone.

Not now though.

Because he knew that this was a puzzle that Tony blamed himself for.

“I know that—” Tony said, more irritated than normal, and Steve tuned back into the conversation, in case he needed to step in.

“And with _Warger v. Shauers_ —”

“I know that, too!” Tony snapped, his face red, his expression dangerous. He turned to look out the window, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest, and Steve glanced at Rhodes, who didn’t seem concerned yet.

Then, abruptly, Tony turned back around. “Bump stock ban.”

Steve blinked, not following the rapid change in topic. “Fifth Amendment,” Rhodes said easily, clearly picking up on whatever Steve had missed.

“You’re not going to counter with the Fourteenth?”

“I think the Takings Clause has a better chance of standing up in Court, if you use a close reading of _Horne v. Department of Agriculture_.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but his angry flush had already started to recede, and a smile was even tugging at the corners of his mouth. “After what the Maryland District Court found in _Maryland Shall Issue v. Hogan_? Something about that argument overturning a century of jurisprudence—”

Rhodes gave him a look. “The Maryland bump stock ban didn’t include confiscation, and you know it.”

“Then I’ll see your Takings Clause and raise you _in rem_.”

“You really wanna talk about civil asset forfeiture?” Rhodes exclaimed. “You really wanna go there?”

Tony laughed, and Steve felt himself finally relax, just slightly, at the sound he hadn’t even realized he’d been waiting to hear. “Sorry,” Tony said, aimed more at Steve than Rhodes. “Long day. Needed to clear my head.”

“I get it,” Steve said, because he did.

Even if his method of clearing his head normally involved going to a gym and pounding the dust out of a punching bag, not swapping a complicated legal problem for a different, also complicated legal problem.

Tony nodded, half-smiling. “Yeah, I’m sure you do,” he muttered, for the first time making his way over to the whiskey and pouring himself a generous three fingers. “So,” he said, for the first time turning fully to Steve, “what can the New York County DA’s office do for the NYPD, Captain?”

“Probably a lot of things,” Steve said. “But I’m not here for that.”

Tony arched a disbelieving eyebrow. “No?” he asked, with a small smirk. “You’re not here to interrogate me on what went wrong and what the chances are that Rumlow’s victims will get any kind of justice?”

Something about the way Tony talked about interrogation sent a shiver down Steve’s spine, and for the first time he wished that Rhodes wasn’t there. Not that he was likely to make a move on Tony right now, given anything, but he’d still like to have had the opportunity.

“I mean, if you had answers, I’d take ‘em,” Steve said. “But I’m not the one who’s going to have the NYPD brass breathing down his neck.”

“Don’t remind me,” Tony said sourly. “Rhodey, did I ever tell you—”

Whatever story he was about to launch into was interrupted by his phone and Steve’s cell going off simultaneously.

Which was never a good thing.

“Rogers,” Steve said, at the same time Tony answered his phone with a lazy, “Go for Stark.”

Both Tony and Steve sobered instantly when they listened to the respective people on the other end, and Rhodes glanced between them, his brow furrowing. “What’s going on?” he asked, when both Steve and Tony had finished their clipped conversations.

“Looks like there won’t be a retrial after all,” Tony said, conspicuously avoiding looking at Steve.

Not that it mattered. Steve couldn’t quite string together any words, feeling every word of the call he had just gotten like a punch to his stomach.

“What?” Rhodes said, glancing between them. “Why?”

“Because Brock Rumlow was just shot to death,” Tony said, draining his whiskey in a single gulp. “By one Sgt. James Barnes.”

Rhodes turned to Steve, his eyes wide. “Bucky?” he asked, for verification.

Steve didn’t answer him, looking past him at Tony, who still couldn’t quite seem to meet his eye. “I need to go deal with this,” he said, feeling numb.

“I’ll bet you do,” Tony muttered.

Steve exhaled sharply. “Not like that—” he started before cutting himself off. He wasn’t going to get into this. Not here, not now. “I’ll talk to you later.”

He turned to go, pausing when he heard Tony call after him, “Capt. Rogers.” He half-turned. “You’ll want to talk to IAB and the union reps before continuing this conversation. Or any conversation.”

Steve swallowed, hard, and jerked his head in a nod.

He knew what Tony meant.

Whatever had happened, whatever had forced Bucky to pull that trigger, he and Tony were not on the same side of this.

And he had never felt that more acutely than right now.

* * *

 

“Can I come in?”

It had been three days since Steve had seen Tony, since they had gotten the call, but it felt like years. He hated to admit it, because it wasn’t like they were dating, it wasn’t like he had any right to, but he had missed him. As he had sat through numerous meetings with Internal Affairs and the Commissioner’s office, the only thing he had wanted to do was text Tony, or stop by his office, or something.

But as much as he wanted to, he hadn’t.

Not until tonight, at least.

Tony glanced up at him, looking somehow more exhausted than he had three days ago. “Depends,” he said. “You got your lawyer with you?”

“Do I seriously need a lawyer with me just to talk to you?”

“Depends on what you want to talk about.”

Tony delivered the words with uncharacteristic flatness, and Steve winced slightly. “I want to talk about Bucky.”

“Then you’ll want a lawyer.”

“Tony—”

“You and I don’t enjoy attorney-client privilege, Rogers,” Tony snapped, glaring at him. “And if you think that I wouldn’t use anything that you had to say to me—”

“—Against me in a court of law?” Steve finished sharply. “Is that really where you’re going with this?”

Tony shook his head. “No,” he said quietly, tossing his pen on his desk before scrubbing a hand across his face. “Not against you.”

Steve felt stung. “But against Bucky.”

“Sgt. Barnes is—” Tony started but Steve cut him off.

“You can’t seriously be considering pursuing charges here.”

Tony suddenly couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. “The decision to bring charges isn’t up to me alone.”

Steve gaped at him. “A Grand Jury?” he demanded, incredulous. “You’re considering convening a Grand Jury?”

Abruptly, Tony stood, and Steve watched with narrowed eyes as he made his way over to his whiskey decanter, which was noticeably more empty than it had been a few days ago. “Even if I was,” Tony said, his voice even, “you know that I’m not allowed to discuss it. Not with you, not with anyone.”

“What is there to discuss?” Steve asked, watching as Tony downed his glass of whiskey in one go. “Brock Rumlow murdered three innocent bystanders rather than let himself be peacefully arrested, and now he’s dead. There’re a lot of people who would call that justice.”

“That’s a nice spin on the story, Cap,” Tony said, his voice dripping in sarcasm as he poured himself another drink. “Glad to see you’re toeing the party line.” He drained half his drink before adding, “Like the good soldier you are.”

Steve glowered at him. “I’m not toeing any line,” he said. “I’m stating the facts.”

“The facts?” Tony repeated, with scorn. “You want the facts, Cap? Because I can tell you the facts. First and foremost, Sgt. Barnes had no reason to be harassing Rumlow, who had been released on bail with no additional investigation pending. Secondly—”

“He wasn’t harassing him,” Steve said exasperatedly. “Bucky just wanted to follow up—”

“Secondly,” Tony said again, raising his voice to speak over Steve, “when the situation that Barnes provoked escalated, he drew his firearm in violation of NYPD policy. Thirdly, he shot Rumlow unprovoked.”

Steve shook his head. “It wasn’t unprovoked,” he said, his voice low.

Tony glared at him. “He was unarmed.”

“Which doesn’t render him incapable of provoking Bucky.”

“But does beg the question of why Sgt. Barnes not only shot him — unprovoked — but also emptied his clip into an unarmed man.”

Steve opened his mouth to answer and closed it again.

He didn’t have an answer to that.

Or at least, not a good one.

He had many reasonings that he could offer, most of which he’d already told IAB, explanations of Bucky’s PTSD from the war and how it could easily have been set off, or how Rumlow, as former NYPD officer, knew exactly what to say to make a situation as ambiguously dangerous as possible, but he knew Tony didn’t want to hear that.

So he fell back on the only reason he had left. “He was following orders.”

Something dark flashed across Tony’s face. “Orders?” he repeated, his voice dangerously low. “What orders would those be?”

Steve squared his shoulders. “Mine.”

Tony stared at him for a long moment. “Yours,” he said, almost as if mulling the word — and all its implications — over.

“Yes.”

Tony pounded the rest of his drink before crossing back to his desk. “Interesting that you would say that, Captain,” he said, digging through his files before pulling the one he was apparently looking for out. “Because you told IAB that you told Sgt. Barnes to stay at the precinct. And that you never so much as issued an armed and dangerous warning on Rumlow.”

Steve’s heart seemed to be beating painfully fast in his chest. “I — I lied.”

“To IAB.”

Steve lifted his chin, just slightly. “Yes.”

“In a sworn deposition, where you put your hand on a Bible and swore to tell the truth, the full truth and nothing but.”

“Yes.”

Tony slammed the file down on his desk. “God _damn_ it, Steve, what the hell do you think you’re going to accomplish with this?” he demanded. “You’re not going to help Barnes. The only thing you’re gonna do is get your ass thrown into jail for perjury!”

“What other choice do I have?” Steve demanded, letting his arms fall to his sides as he strode forward.  Stopping himself before he could get any further than the side of his desk, any closer to the man behind it. “You’re the one who wants to convene a Grand Jury and—”

“No, I’m the one who wants to do my job,” Tony interrupted, unfazed by the man’s nearness.

Steve’s lip curled in derision. “Oh, sure, it’s real easy to do your job when you’re big man behind a desk in your fancy suits all day.”

Tony stared at him. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you have no idea what it’s like to be out there with a target on your back and the potential for anyone to have a gun aimed at you,” Steve said, his voice tight.

“And you’re no longer a soldier, Rogers, and this isn’t a war,” Tony shot back. “There are laws and systems in place for a reason and it’s not on you — or Barnes — to circumvent those laws.”

Steve shook his head, a muscle working in his jaw. “Bucky is my oldest friend,” he said, his voice low, almost desperate. “I know you can’t possibly understand what it was like to be a poor kid growing up in Brooklyn but even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.” His glare deepened. “And while you were busy partying at Yale or wherever, he was always there to take care of me.”

“I went to Harvard,” Tony said, his expression pinched. “Where in addition to partying, I was busy learning about the judicial system you and I both swore to uphold.” Steve shook his head but Tony didn’t let him interrupt. “But you’re right, I wouldn’t know what it was like to have someone there to take care of me because my parents were dead.”

Steve exhaled sharply. “You don’t get to play that card—“

“And you don’t get to tell me that I can’t play that card,” Tony interrupted. He stared at Steve, something unreadable in his expression. “Do you know what I have wanted, ever since my parents died? I have wanted to see their killer in court. I have wanted to stare him down and watch him admit in front of everyone what he did. That he — that he murdered my parents for, I don’t even know, drug money, probably.” He broke off, his eyes wet, and looked down at his desk for a long moment. Steve couldn’t seem to bring himself to interject, his expression troubled as he watched Tony. When Tony looked up again, his eyes were dry. “All I ever wanted was my day in court, and my turn for justice.”

“Tony—“ Steve started softly.

“Barnes took that away from these victims,” Tony said, jabbing a finger at the stack of casefiles on his desk. “And whatever else you may think, it’s not his place to play judge, jury and executioner. Brock Rumlow was unarmed, and your friend gunned him down.” He met Steve’s eyes. “You don’t get to stand here and call that justice.”

“Tony,” Steve repeated, even quieter this time, but Tony just shook his head.

“Just answer one question for me,” he said, sounding tired, defeated. “If it had been you, if you had been standing where Barnes was, would you have taken that shot?”

Steve’s mouth went dry. “I don’t—”

“Yes or no.”

Steve swallowed and shook his head. “Why does it matter?” he asked, a little desperately. “Hindsight is always 20/20, and—”

“Steve.” Steve forced himself to look at Tony, to meet his eyes. “Yes or no.”

“No.”

Tony nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

“That doesn’t matter—”

“It does,” Tony told him. “It means you’re still the man that I thought you were, and that matters a hell of a lot.” He cocked his head, just slightly. “Or at least, it matters to me.”

Steve had no response to that.

Only stared, emotions he couldn’t begin to name forming a knot in his throat.

Tony, of course, had spent the better part of his life avoiding the sound of silence. It was why he talked so much, Steve thought. To quiet the thoughts that tend to roar if nothing else is around to drown them out. It was without turning to look at Steve that his lips parted; hardly enough to allow the breath that passed through.

“Does it change the way you see me?”

The question was unnecessary, he thought. And more than that it was ridiculous. Steve knew who Tony was, he’d always known who he was, but maybe here — maybe now more than ever — that was exactly the problem. Maybe his knowledge of Tony, his seemingly primal awareness of every breath that expanded the man’s lungs and every knot of tension that toughened his broad shoulders, would be what finally brought the captain to his knees.

“No,” he answered easily and felt the intractable pull of Tony as he stepped another foot forward. Closer to the heat he would have sworn he’d imagined if only it didn’t sear his skin the closer he came. “No, it doesn’t.”

Turning, Tony looked at him through new eyes. Seeing something new to him, perhaps, though Steve had always been certain he was a terrible poker player and the way he felt about the prosecutor was etched into the slowly deepening creases of his eyes.  

“But that’s exactly why I need to go.” Dark eyes found his, jolted wide in surprise.  Had he thought Steve meant the job? The city entirely? Maybe he had. “I think you and I both know this won’t go anywhere good. We shouldn’t pretend that it won’t end with us on opposite sides, trying to stay together while we tear each other apart.”

“Don’t say that,” Tony said and it wasn’t hard to hear the fire in his voice.  

“Tony—”

It happened so fast Steve could hardly track the movement.  

One second Tony Stark was seated at his desk, tie loosened beneath his three piece suit, and the next he was standing in front of him, hands on either side of his stubbled jaw as he pulled Steve into a searing kiss. Tony’s hands on his hips rooted him in place even as the sensation of perfectly coarse hair on his chin send his head spinning. Their lips moved against each other’s independently of thought or command, as though they’d imagined it so many times their bodies already knew the steps to this particular dance.  

It was perfect.

Perfect to stay there with his hip digging into the corner of the hard mahogany desk, perfect to taste the expensive whiskey on the man’s mouth, more than perfect to finally find out just how well they fit together. Somehow he knew they would, had known it from the first moment Tony had ever leveled eyes the color of swirling topaz on his own and had, with mock formality, called him “Captain”. The single word had sparked a thrill in his blood those years ago and it had only ever intensified with every case, with every late night. With every bitter argument and long look that came after.

That thrill had finally come to fruition now, with the attorney he so admired pressed against him so tightly he could feel their shared arousal in every gasped breath he managed to steal. 

It occurred to him as they savored, as their hearts raced, that Steve should stop this. He should pull away, he should create the physical distance he needed even if emotional distance was beyond his ability.

He didn’t.  

For all his strength, he found himself weakened by the man in his arms. Rendered incapable of rational thought or action once Tony licked into his mouth and dug blunted fingertips into his side like he knew Steve might try and leave, never speaking of his again.

Steve was tired.

Tired of fighting, tired of keeping his distance.

Tired of pretending that Tony Stark hadn’t stopped his life on a dime and split his life into two inalterable pieces — before the firebrand prosecutor and after.

So rather than think himself into turning back, before he could force himself to step away from Tony’s grasping embrace, he did something he’d thought about more times than was decent for a man in his position. He ran his palms from Tony’s back, over strong shoulder blades down to his tapered waist and beyond. The tiny, rough inhale Tony took from his mouth as Steve’s hands passed over his ass was indecent. It made his head swim, forced his heart into a gallop and his mind to conjure just what sounds the man in front of him would make when at last Steve would sink into his waiting body.

It was that thought in mind on repeat that had Steve gripping him behind his thighs and hauling him upward, onto the antique desktop. Papers went flying, casefiles scattered across the floor like corporate confetti. The owner of those papers made a noise of complaint, one of scandalized offense that could easily have turned into a lecture, but Steve knew the solution to that. It was another kiss, deep and dark, and a pointed nip at Tony’s lower lip that had the man’s legs tightening around Steve’s hips in reflex.

He felt drunk.

The man in front of him was intoxicating, all expensive cologne and wiry muscle beneath finely tailored suits. The sensation of lightheadedness only intensified as his fingers tripped up the length of fine buttons that fitted Tony’s vest across his abdomen. They parted easily, letting his questing fingers through to the pristine white shirt beneath. He could feel the jump and bunch of muscle under his touch, could feel the way Tony’s long torso stretched and flexed to be nearer his caress, and for a moment Steve considered a prayer of thanks.

All he felt was gratitude when at last he was permitted to touch bronzed skin, firm dips of muscle and a sparse scattering of hair over his chest. It was humbling to realize that the number of times he’d thought of this very thing, his fantasies hadn’t even begun to approach the reality. Feeling overwhelmed, something approaching helpless, Steve dragged his lips down the strong column of Tony’s throat and kissed the top of one pectoral, feeling the warm muscle shiver under him.  

He had no choice but to do it again. And again. Until this sacred topography had been committed to memory, until his lips had mapped it all and gone back for seconds. Tony’s breath was heaving now and there were words escaping in between but Steve couldn’t process those too, on top of everything else. It was sheer volume that gave him the gift of a fervent, “ _Ah, God,”_ from the man below him as his tongue circled and plucked at a flat brown nipple.

Steve couldn’t help but wonder what else he could drag out of him.

It was with that hint of a challenge that he found the button of Tony’s fly, parted it. Lowered the zipper and lifted his eyes to find Tony reclined on elbows and staring intently. Pupils blown, dilated wide with the arousal Steve could feel waiting for him beneath fabric. For a moment they paused, staring. The captain asking permission and the prosecutor weighing his desire to give it. Steve had almost stepped away before a single word stopped him in his tracks.

“Please.”

His eyes jerked up, sky blue to earthen brown, and Steve knew just what he was being given when Tony’s hand covered his own and his hips arched into the weight of their touch. This man had never allowed himself to be vulnerable, knowing all too well the consequences of letting your guard down. This, _them_ , was the ultimate vulnerability and Steve felt his back straighten as the weight of the responsibility fitted precisely into place on his shoulders.  

They weren’t a mistake. This wasn’t a mistake. Steve would find a way to convince Tony that his trust was not misplaced.  

But he believed in actions, not rhetoric, and so it was with a passionate kiss that he first captured Tony’s lips and then left him in the name of something better — namely the slow, tantalizing drag of his mouth down the length of Tony’s body before earning his first impressions of the shape of him. Hard and thick, twitching to be nearer the molten heat of Steve’s breath. For all their rivalry, for all their flirting masquerading as bickering, Steve could only conjure up the utmost affection for the man beneath him and it was that affection that multiplied tenfold when first he allowed his tongue to seek its prize.

Tony tasted warm, of earth and soap and fabric. He was also incredibly responsive, thrusting up with the slightest touch of Steve’s tongue to his straining flesh. It took the strategic placement of Steve’s hand on the dip of Tony’s waist to keep him in place long enough for his taste to turn into a consumption of all that earthen heat. It felt like a brand that lit him up from the inside out, only intensified by the sound of Tony’s long moan from above him.

“ _Fuck_ , God,” he rasped, the profanity bringing a pleased heat to Steve’s face as he pulled off.

“Language,” he reminded against the silken flesh on his lips and Tony had the presence of mind to look incredulous.  

“Are you—”

And then Steve went back to work, and discernible language ceased. Their communication devolved purely into the physical, with scrabbling fingers through his combed hair and a long hand placed so gently on the back of his head to guide him. Up and down, again and again. Steve enjoyed the taste far more than he would have been willing to admit in different circumstances and it was with an undeniable zeal that he brought Tony up and up, winding him ever higher in the name of inciting the freefall.  

A frantic tap on his shoulder was warning enough, issued with the understanding that Steve may want something different than what was about to happen. A laughable assumption, really, but he appreciated the thought — enough to take Tony deep into his throat and hollow his cheeks on the way up, earning him more swearing that sounded sweeter than a symphony before the taste of earth and salt welled up on his questing tongue.  

Tony came with a strangled shout, fingers tangled in Steve’s hair and pulling hard enough to send pain erupting over his scalp and rolling down his shoulders like liquid fire. Pleased and something approaching proud, Steve kept up his attention and worked the attorney through the crest of his orgasm, softly humming as the man’s essence filled his mouth and was swallowed down.  

When sensitivity was certain he pulled away, wiping at his mouth only to bestow kisses on the jutting hipbone directly in his line of sight. Tony jumped at the first touch of skin and then trembled like gooseflesh had erupted over the length of his body. Which, of course, only made Steve do it again. And again, once more mapping the contours of a body he was only just introduced to moments ago.  

Never a man known for his patience, Tony squirmed and pulled Steve standing again. Into the bracket of his thighs, where he could hold Steve close and kiss the taste of himself from Steve’s mouth with hardly a hesitation. Steve’s vision swam, his knees grew weak. He was certain he was hard enough to separate the zipper at his front but Tony felt the need to help anyway, jerking it roughly down and releasing hot flesh into his grasp.  

It was with hardly another syllable of protest that Steve watched Tony spit in his hand and wrap it roughly around the length of him. Tight, hot. Shaking slightly with the release Steve had given him only moments before, and surely it was that knowledge more than the physical sensations themselves that had him jerking into the firm grip.

“Jesus,” he murmured, breathless.

“ _Language_ ,” Tony insisted in a voice so dripping with sarcasm that it even managed to wrench a smile from someone so perilously close to orgasm that it felt inevitable.  

Perhaps he should have been embarrassed at being felled so easily, but it wasn’t just any man bringing him to his knees — it was a man with his own corner in Steve’s mind, possibly in his heart. The heart beating like hell to get out of his chest and closer to Tony as he worked Steve over with a sure hand. Alternating between decadently rough and tantalizingly slow, tight and little more than a caress. It was driving him crazy, making his hips jolt and buck seemingly at random. Forever looking for a rhythm and unable to find it.

Trust DA Tony Stark to refuse to accommodate him, even here and now.

At least until Steve took a moment of pure bliss to open his eyes and look at the man, breath catching in his throat as his eyes took in golden skin flushed deep rose. His lower lip was caught between his teeth, taut with concentration and the determination to see Steve fall apart. God, he was beautiful. So beautiful, putting all his considerable effort and intellect into Steve’s pleasure.

“I—” he started but was seized by a full body shiver as Tony stole yet another kiss from parted lips. What was he saying? He started again. “I—"

“Yeah,” Tony consoled him in a rough whisper, “Yeah, I know.”

It was the best he could do under the circumstances, because then Tony pulled him closer and put his mouth to Steve’s ear. Talking fast and low, too fast and low for Steve to understand more than every third word or so. What he could understand, though, was Tony’s lips moving over the tender skin of his earlobe. Over and over, hot breath lighting nerves he didn’t know were so responsive only seconds before.  

He felt himself barreling ever closer to that edge, careening out of control while Tony worked him in tight circles just under the head of his dick. He felt hazy and fevered and perpetually on the brink, until Tony pressed a kiss to his ear and issued a command.

“Let go,” he told him sternly, an order laced into the breathless whisper of a lover. “Let go, Steve.”

Then teeth sunk into the tender skin of his earlobe and he was lost.  

Swept away and helpless as his climax overtook him, rocked him from head to toe as muscles clenched and he spurted into Tony’s hand. It was torture and rapture simultaneously, and in turns painful and euphoric to the extent that his vision whited out and he threatened to collapse. It went on and on, until he had nothing left to give the man who still held him.

He was floating.

Warm and weightless somewhere firmly free of the constraints of earth while his heart beat a stunted staccato against his ribs. Blood pumped thickly through his veins and roared in his ears and in all his life, Steve Rogers had never felt more like he was precisely where he needed to be.

And then, against his will, reality seeped in the cracks in his foundation left by the seismic shift of Tony’s mouth against his ear.  

The sound of traffic outside the window, Tony’s terrible talking paperweight digging into his palm and chirping its disapproval. The tender press of lips against his throat. That old thrill was still singing in his blood at volumes he’d never before experienced, making his skin prickle in heightened awareness and his knees threaten to buckle. If he could have, he might have chosen never to move from their embrace.  He would have made an entire lifetime on that desk if it meant keeping Tony close and in this warm glow forever.

But as it turned out, he didn’t get to make that choice,

Tony pushed him away, and had Steve not still been pliant from his orgasm he might’ve resisted. As it was, he rocked back on his heels, blinking at Tony, who suddenly couldn’t seem to meet his eyes as he buttoned his shirt and pulled his pants up. “You should—” Tony’s voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “You should go.”

“Go?” Steve repeated, hastening to follow Tony’s lead and get his clothes back in place, even if he had no intention of leaving. After all, while he had figured Tony wasn’t the type to need or want cuddling or breakfast after sex, Steve was still too much of a gentleman to just zip his pants up and walk away. “What do you mean, go?”

“I mean, go, leave, disappear, vamoose.” Tony waved a hand in the direction of his doorway.

“No,” Steve said, stung.

Tony gave him a look. “That’s an order, Rogers.”

“And last time I checked, I don’t take orders from you.” Steve shot back. “So why don’t you try talking to me instead of trying to force me out of your office?”

Tony shook his head. “You said it yourself, the only thing we’ll end up doing is tearing ourselves apart,”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I think you did.” Tony delivered the words calmly, dispassionately, so opposite from how they had just been wrapped around each other that Steve felt like his head was spinning. “I think you meant it and I think you were right to.”

Steve stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

Tony buttoned the top buttons of his shirt and tightened his tie, moving it back into place, before unrolling his shirt sleeves, buttoning the cuffs with nimble fingers. “I’m talking about what hasn’t changed. I’m talking about Sgt. Barnes being indicted for murder. I’m talking about you lying under oath. And how much more complicated all of that would be if you and I were sleeping with each other.”

Steve gaped at him, completely lost for words.

A big, dumb puppy, someone had called Steve once.

He had never felt more like it.

“So that’s it?” he said. “Because I support my friend, you and I can’t—”

“Because you would rather side with a criminal over justice,” Tony interrupted loudly. “Yeah, because of that, you and I can’t.”

Steve shook his head slowly. “I can’t — I can’t turn my back on Bucky,” he said, because he couldn’t. No matter what else may happen, he couldn’t do that. “Maybe I wish I could, but—”

“No you don’t,” Tony said, looking at him evenly.

Steve almost smiled. “No, I don’t.”

Tony snorted a laugh and drew a hand across his face. “Sometimes I want to punch you in your perfect teeth,” he admitted. “Because you’re the perfect soldier, the perfect cop, the perfect _everything_ , and yet. You drive me crazy, and what’s worse is you know it.” He sighed. “And I don’t want to see you on the other side of this. So—” He broke off, and for the first time, Steve could see the hesitation, the vulnerability that Tony had spent his entire life trying to hide from every single person he knew. Every single person he loved. “Testify for the prosecution. Tell the truth, that Barnes acted alone. So far nothing has happened that can’t be undone.”

“And let Bucky go to jail?” Steve shook his head. “I can’t.”

“He killed—”

“He needs help!” Steve snapped. “He needs a lot of help, and he’s not going to find that in jail. And whatever you may think, sending him there doesn’t get justice for anyone.”

Tony’s expression tightened, even though Steve could read the resignation in his eyes. He had known that Steve wouldn’t agree.

And it left them right back where they had started.

“There are ways to get help through the judicial system,” Tony said, though Steve could hear how hollow the words were. Not that Tony didn’t believe them, just that he knew — they both knew — that Steve didn’t.

“Your faith is in the system,” Steve said quietly. “My faith…” He trailed off and shook his head. “My faith’s in people, I guess. Individuals. And for the most part, they haven’t let me down.” He shrugged. “Which is why I can’t let them down, either.”

“You took an oath,” Tony said, without any real heat. “To serve and protect.”

Steve half-smiled. “That’s LAPD,” he said. “NYPD’s motto is Faithful to Death. And I intend to uphold that.”

Tony nodded before squaring his shoulders. “Then like I said, you should go.”

“Tony—”

“Go, Captain.”

And there it was.  Title over familiarity, professionalism despite the fact that only minutes ago they had been breaking apart in each other’s arms.  Steve knew that there was no argument he could make that would change Tony’s mind, just as there was nothing Tony could say to change his. So he swallowed, hard, and he turned to leave, though he paused when Tony said, in a pained voice, “Steve—”

He half-turned, his heart beating painfully in his chest.

But when Tony spoke next, it was with a cold sort of clarity. “You’re choosing the wrong side.”

“There are no sides,” Steve told him. “And I know you’re doing what you believe in. So…” He paused, kicking his lips, weighing what he wanted to say against what he should. “So no matter what, I promise you, if you need me, I’ll be here.”

He turned again to leave, and this time, he didn’t pause when Tony spoke. “I won’t,” Tony said, so quietly that Steve could barely hear him.

Steve closed his eyes, squared his shoulders, and walked away.


End file.
